


Another Favor, Another Friend

by riotcow



Series: It Started With a Favor Between Friends [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Date Night, Dirty Talk, F/M, Lucky Molly, Molly is a sub with a spine, Multi, Poor Molly, Sherlock and John are pretty toppy together, Threesome - F/M/M, Watch out Sherlock has a plan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-02
Updated: 2014-08-02
Packaged: 2018-02-11 09:55:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2063685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riotcow/pseuds/riotcow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John rubbed a hand over his face. “Sherlock, I’m not conducting your other sexual affairs on your behalf. That’s simply asking too much.”</p><p>“<em>Other</em> affairs? John, you misunderstand me. I’m suggesting that you conduct <em>our</em> sexual affairs on <em>our</em> behalf. Because you’re better at being nice than I am, and Molly deserves that.”</p><p>John’s brow wrinkled in confusion. “Are you saying that this little scenario of yours is some kind of threesome?”</p><p>
  <em>More smut, obviously. The dirty talk gets a little dark.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Another Favor, Another Friend

**Author's Note:**

> A post-Reichenbach AU that ignores Mary.

It was a few weeks later that Sherlock came up with his next brilliant idea.

Their encounters were averaging once a week, and were always initiated by Sherlock. He would announce that there was something new that he wanted to try, and depending on what it was, John either acquiesced easily or put up a fight first.

The only idea that had made him turn Sherlock down flat was bottoming for anal sex, and he had no inclination to budge on that one.

But he’d also initially balked at the idea of going down on Sherlock, who found a way around that by waiting to come onto him again until just after they’d sprinted home from their next dangerous outing. John’s blood had been pumping and his senses sharpened by adrenaline, and Sherlock aggressively crowded him into a corner and got things going by dropping to his own knees first.

Within five minutes John had dragged him into the living room by his hair, swearing the whole way, and practically hurled Sherlock onto the couch. It was always impressive, the ease with which John proved himself to be capable of manhandling the taller man. Sherlock was a savvy, experienced and creative brawler, but he found that in the final tally, John’s years of training and slight edge in strength would win out in a fairly matched fight. The only way he could best John was to out-think him, not to out-fight him.

But by planting the seed of the idea in John’s mind -- even if John rejected it -- and then hitting him fast and heavy when he was already riled up, Sherlock managed to out-think him. John knelt between Sherlock’s spread feet and gave him a dirty look before he visibly steeled himself and put his mouth on Sherlock’s cock. But then Sherlock’s eyelids had begun to flutter and his body to jerk unpredictably beneath his attentions, and John clearly warmed up to the task quickly. His unique ability to drive the smartest man in the world into stupid, subverbal ecstasy had turned out to be an incredible drug for John Watson, and it turned out that the drug was far more compelling than John’s heterosexuality.

A fact that Sherlock was only too happy to exploit.

“I’ve decided that I’d like to try having sex with a woman next,” Sherlock announced apropos of nothing. He was perched on a ladder near the front door, having some sort of interaction with the overhead light. John wasn’t entirely certain if this was home maintenance or an experiment involving photosensitivity.

John looked up from his paper. Sherlock always waited until he was deeply engrossed in the international news section before delivering these little bulletins. John didn’t know why.

He felt a surprisingly intense pang, and took a moment to collect himself. Of course Sherlock had been growing curious. It was clear that this sex business had engaged his scientist’s mind, so there was no reason that Sherlock’s curiosity had to be limited to scenarios that only involved John.

“I see. Well. Who did you have in mind?” John tried to sound unbothered, remembering vividly biting the back of Sherlock’s shoulder, the first time he ever spent himself inside of that lithe, appealing body. Thinking: _There better not be anyone else._

“Well,” Sherlock muttered absently, clearly unhappy with however his project atop the ladder was progressing, “I can think of only one woman who is both trustworthy and suitable, but you told me the first time that you and I had sex that it would be inappropriate.”

“Molly?” John’s brow furrowed in disapproval. “Sherlock, I told you, Molly has real feelings for you. It wouldn’t be right to take advantage of that.”

Sherlock lowered the bulb in one hand and some sort of modified soldering iron in the other and glanced from them to John and back.  “Why should it be taking advantage? Molly Hooper has proven herself to be a grown woman who is capable of making up her own mind. Shouldn’t you permit her to do so?”

John was momentarily flummoxed at that. The way Sherlock said it, it made it sound like it was John being old-fashioned and paternalistic. Then he regrouped. “Sherlock, you know that Molly wants something different than what you’re talking about. She’d be putting herself in a position to get hurt by you.”

“You apparently know Molly’s mind better than Molly herself does.” Sherlock raised an eyebrow at John.

John sighed and mulled it over for a long moment while Sherlock returned to his mysterious project.

“Okay, fine,” John finally said. “ _Fine_ , you’re right. So... you’re just going to be up front with Molly about what you’re offering, the way you were with me. And then she gets to make an informed decision for herself.”

Sherlock prodded the light socket with a screwdriver and John winced. “Well, I’d like for you to handle the first part,” Sherlock said.

John nearly spit out a mouthful of tea. “Sherlock? _Seriously_ , you expect me to handle this for you? There are _limits_.”

Sherlock looked vaguely surprised by John’s dramatic reaction. “You’ll do a much better job than I would, John, don’t you think so?”

John rubbed a hand over his face. “Sherlock, I’m not conducting your other sexual affairs on your behalf. That’s simply asking too much.”

“ _Other_ affairs? John, you misunderstand me. I’m suggesting that you conduct _our_ sexual affairs on _our_ behalf. Because you’re better at being nice than I am, and Molly deserves that.”

John’s brow wrinkled in confusion. “Are you saying that this little scenario of yours is some kind of threesome?”

Sherlock looked exasperated. “Obviously, John. I thought that you understood that from our first encounter together. I can’t exactly do this _without_ you, can I?”

John was taken aback. “You… can’t?”

“Of course not.” Sherlock backed down the ladder with handfuls of wires and components, which he then proceeded to lay out on the kitchen table among the detritus of his latest experiments with mold. Suddenly Sherlock froze, then peered at John dubiously. “John… we do have an understanding here, don’t we?”

“What kind of understanding?” John put down his paper, worried that if he didn’t give Sherlock his undivided attention that he was going to miss something that he regretted later. Again.

Sherlock, for his part, looked slightly unnerved. “You haven’t… been having sex with anyone else, have you?” His eyes darted over John with that rapid-fire twitch that meant that he was actively deducing. “No, of course not,” he added abruptly, almost to himself. “I would have noticed.”

“Well… no. I haven’t, not since… well. Not since you and I started _experimenting_ together, as you call it.” John’s body was responding a bit to the closeness with which Sherlock was examining him as well as the possessive implications of the conversation. “But I don’t know that I realized that it would have bothered you.”

“It wouldn’t bother me,” Sherlock snapped swiftly, then blanched visibly at his own words. “Wait, what am I saying? Obviously it would, that’s the point of me saying all this, isn’t it? I -- I’m sorry, John, I’m still not sure that I’ve fully got a handle on all of the emotional complexities that accompany sexual partnership.” Sherlock stood looking at John as if he were one of his experiments, which always made John’s skin feel weirdly… _prickly_.

“Sexual partnership? Is that the term now? Not experimentation?” John’s tone was carefully level, as they were coming unnervingly close to discussing what it was that was occurring between them.

“What would you call it, John?” Sherlock looked fascinated, but not by his electrical problem any more.

_No hiding, John. If you’re doing this, then you’re doing this. Don’t play pretend with yourself._

“I don’t think that I know what word to use for it.” John furrowed his brow, thinking. “I don’t think of you as my boyfriend -- that seems awfully adolescent, given our lifestyle -- but I know that I had a good chance with a pretty girl when I was at the pub with Greg night before last, and I walked away from it. Without letting myself think very much about why.”

At that, Sherlock looked satisfied. Even, well, relieved. “Good. I’m glad.”

“Okay.” John pushed himself to his feet and went to the sideboard to pour himself a drink. It was late enough in the evening, and would help with the rest of the conversation. “So then, I suppose that I shouldn’t be having sex with anyone but you. Just so we’re clear, is that what you’re saying, Sherlock?”

Sherlock sat back and crossed his long legs at the ankle. “Well, I did just tell you that I’d like you to ask Molly if she would like to join us one night. So no, I don’t suppose that I’m asking you for exclusivity, exactly. Just… you and I are _mates_ , best friends, as you say, aren’t we? I suppose that I like the way that we do everything together.”

“Okay.” John nodded. “And that -- that cuts both ways?”

Sherlock laughed in genuine amusement. “You mean, you want me to promise not to have sex with someone else without you? Oh John, what are the chances of that happening? Of course I’m not going to do that. I wouldn’t have the foggiest idea how to go about it.” He sounded unperturbed by this fact.

“You managed to seduce _me_ ,” John grumbled.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. “That was different. That was _easy_.”

John wasn’t sure whether to be offended or not. He also wasn’t sure how he felt about this entire conversation, from acknowledging that neither of them really wanted the other to be stepping out to the idea of asking Molly Hooper to join them in… whatever it was they were doing.

Actually, the latter sounded… intriguing, perhaps, slightly.

Actually, the _former_ didn’t sound that bad either, when he stopped to think about it. If he was being honest with himself, he _really_ didn’t like the idea of Sherlock going off with someone else.

“What did you have in mind? With regard to Molly, I mean?” John found himself deeply curious to know what motivated Sherlock around sex, well, other than John himself, which was the only thing that John was aware of that had worked so far.

Sherlock looked thoughtful. “Well, for myself, I’m interested in the usual, especially since you won’t allow me to fuck you. You’ve helped me acquire some excellent experience with being the receptive partner, but I still feel that I’m lacking understanding of the other side of the encounter.”

John tried to imagine watching Sherlock having sex with Molly -- with any woman -- in front of him. Honestly, he had a hard time seeing it, which was sort of ironic considering that the younger man had been the initiator and the driving force behind their own affair from the first. But both men seemed to have a solid understanding that there was something… _unique_ … between them. John knew himself to be the sole human on earth who had ever experienced Sherlock Holmes’ elusive sexual side, and he still couldn’t imagine Sherlock having sex with a woman. Weird.

“You said ‘for yourself.’ What does that mean? Is there something else you want?”

Sherlock was watching John carefully now… it was a look that John had come to know well in the last month or so. It meant that Sherlock was trying to anticipate how John would feel about what he was about to say, and wasn’t entirely sure of the answer. Sex with John seemed to be one of the few realms where Sherlock’s brilliant mind was of limited help to him.

“Well. To be honest, John, the opportunity to be the penetrative partner is only my secondary motivation here. It’s not really what put the idea in my head.”

“Okay.” John finished his drink. “What’s your primary motivation?”

Sherlock abandoned his mysterious project with the lightbulb and began to pace, then stopped mid-track and turned to face John.

“As you take every chance to point out, you’re actually heterosexual.”

John felt himself go pink. He wished that would stop. “Ah. I see. You want to do this for me?”

“No!” The vehemence of Sherlock’s response was a little surprising, but it made John feel a little better. For some reason, he’d found the idea of Sherlock wanting them to take a woman to bed together because John usually only liked women was a little… unsettling.

“No, you misunderstand me again,” Sherlock continued. “This isn’t about your attraction to women. It’s about _my_ attraction to _you_. I have discovered -- recently -- that I am preoccupied by wanting to observe how you behave with a female lover. I want to be able to observe that side of you, to understand what it is about a female body, about female sexuality that garners a response from you. And what kind of response.”

For a moment, John felt like an insect under a microscope, and initially it wasn’t a very good feeling. Then he looked at Sherlock, and noticed that the younger man had fixed him with a particular gaze, that his eyes had darkened, and he realized that Sherlock meant that the idea of John and a woman had somehow become _hot_ for him.

Oh. Well. That was different.

John cleared his throat. “Well, that makes sense. But Sherlock, I’ve never particularly been attracted to Molly. I understand why you’re suggesting her, but it might be kind of weird for me.”

“Do you remember the dress that she wore to Christmas drinks, the year that _the Woman_ faked her death?”

Oh boy, did John remember that dress, as would everyone else who had been in that room. “I do. It was… memorable. Molly was stunning, of course. But Sherlock, her personality is a little… she’s very meek. Not exactly my type. Nor yours, if _I’m_ anything to go by.”

Sherlock finally ceased his pacing and dropped into his chair by the fireplace, directly opposite John, and leaned forward toward him intently. “John, Molly isn’t nearly as meek as you think she is. She tried to ask me for a date seventeen times in the face of my obvious disdain and distraction before we moved past that phase of her infatuation. Honestly, I was impressed. Molly may be mild-mannered -- some people who don’t know _you_ very well might call you the same. She is hardly _meek_. She risked her livelihood and her reputation to protect me.”

John thought about all that. Sherlock really had come a long way in his thoughts and feelings regarding Molly Hooper since the night he’d humiliated her in front of all of her friends on Christmas Eve.

“Okay, those are all fine points. But… you and I are… we’re usually pretty rough with each other, you know what I mean? I’m not sure that Molly --” John was at a loss for how to put it, so he picked his tea back up instead.

Sherlock laughed. “You are kidding, aren’t you? You do realize that Molly has displayed genuine attraction toward only two men, one being myself, the other the most dangerous criminal that you and I have ever faced?” John pursed his lips thoughtfully as Sherlock continued. “She’s never shown the slightest interest in any man who wasn’t an overbearing, domineering, sadistic bastard, has she?”

That actually made John laugh. “Well, again, you’ve got me there. Okay. So you’re totally serious about this, Sherlock, you think this is a good idea?” On the one hand, John was surprised that he was letting Sherlock talk him into this. On the other, he had to admit that Sherlock had displayed quite a bit more interpersonal acumen in his sexual dealings with John than John would have expected.

Not that John had ever expected to be having sexual dealings with Sherlock Holmes. It had just kind of happened, one night.

“John, imagine having a warm, submissive, moist female body in between you and I in the middle of the night. Imagine the things that you and I, together, could think of to do to a body like that, if we wanted to. Imagine having her like -- _love_ \-- all of it. And come, screaming, for us.” Sherlock’s pale eyes flashed in the increasingly amber evening light of the flat, and John felt his breath catch in his throat.

John didn’t bother to try to be subtle as he reached down and adjusted the swelling bulge in his jeans. “That’s certainly a persuasive argument,” he said in a tight voice.

Sherlock grinned. “I knew you’d see it my way.” He stood abruptly, brushing his hands together as if he were done with the matter.

“Molly is a grown woman, John Watson. You make sure to treat her like one,” Sherlock commented over his shoulder as he wandered off, leaving John to tend to his burgeoning erection and suddenly inflamed imagination on his own. 

* * *

Molly had been pretty surprised when John approached her during one of their frequent visits to the morgue, took her aside, and asked her to go to dinner with him at one of the nicest restaurants near the hospital, telling her that he wanted to discuss a matter involving Sherlock.

John exhaled in relief that she had read his cues -- dinner, nice restaurant -- well enough that she didn’t show up wearing an appalling crocheted jumper of some kind. Instead she wore a flattering wraparound dress that showed a hint of her amazing cleavage without making her look overdressed. John had put on his most expensive shirt, something from Saville Row that Sherlock had dressed him in once for a case.

John had done some weird stuff in order to get laid, especially in his younger days, but had to admit that this might take the cake. He stood as Molly approached the table, and noted her noting his appearance. He hugged her, kissing her on the cheek warmly, pulling out her chair.

“Oh! Thank you, John,” Molly said, her blush quite pretty when she wore her long hair down around her slender shoulders. John found himself seeing her in a new light after hearing Sherlock’s unexpected defense of her hidden grit and her sexual desirability. She glanced up at him nervously from beneath her lashes, and John realized from the set of her jaw that she’d been preparing herself for a variety of scenarios regarding what to expect of this meeting.

He didn’t really feel like torturing her any more. He smiled at her. “Molly, it’s fine. Let’s both just relax. We’re on a date. It’s not the strangest thing that either of us has done for Sherlock, is it?”

Molly returned his grin tentatively, then picked up her menu and stared at it. “I wasn’t entirely sure. You said you wanted to talk about Sherlock.”

John straightened his cuffs. “Yes. I do. Both. It’s a date, _and_ we’re going to talk about Sherlock.” He joined Molly in perusing the menu, although right now he couldn’t imagine eating a full meal.

“Okay.” She looked… pleased, he thought. Pleased to be on a date with him. Which seemed like a good start to the evening.

They ordered, and John directed the conversation to general catch-up, not something that he and Molly often sat and did, but they did tend to be aware of the general developments in one anothers’ lives. Well, except for one. John had wondered if Lestrade or Molly had started to notice the change in Sherlock and John’s relationship, and if Molly was anything to go by, the answer was a resounding ‘not yet.’

After the appetizer John wiped his mouth and put his elbows on the table between courses. Molly immediately looked at him expectantly. She was certainly waiting.

“Okay, I’ll get to the point since I’ve obviously piqued your curiosity. Molly, I know that you know that there have always been rumors that Sherlock and I were sleeping together.”

Molly was watching him closely. “Which you’ve always denied, and Sherlock has never once denied.”

John smiled ruefully. “True.” So she was paying attention. He shifted a bit, looking for the right words. “Okay. Well. Not long ago, those rumors finally... became true.”

In response, her gaze became guarded. John supposed that it might sting Molly to finally hear direct evidence that Sherlock wasn’t completely uninterested in sex. “Okay,” Molly said, her eyes roaming over him as if to decide whether he looked any different now that she knew. “After all these years, it finally happened.” Her voice was flat, emotionless.

“Yes, well…” John shrugged. “I really did think of myself as straight, you know. Still do, basically. Despite the clear evidence of one exception to the rule.”

Molly nodded slowly. “Well, I’ve known for years how important you are to Sherlock. To his sanity, even. He’s become a much better man because of you.”

John reached out and put a hand over Molly’s, noting how soft her skin was. “Molly, it’s been all of us that have made him better. Having _friends_ , plural. You and me and Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson.”

Of course the waiter chose that moment to deliver their entrees, and they broke apart, somewhat relieved for the distraction of the meal. They both picked up their forks and ate a few bites before forging on.

“So you and Sherlock are finally shagging, and then you ask me out on a fancy date. How does that work?”

John showed his appreciation. Sherlock had been right -- Molly may be Molly, but it was a mistake to take that for spinelessness. Her spine was just fine, thank you. “Good question. You see, Molly, imagine right now that you’re actually on a date with both Sherlock and I, but that Sherlock in typical Sherlock fashion couldn’t be arsed to make it to dinner with us.”

Molly dropped her fork with a clatter, staring at him sharply. “John, are you entirely serious?” she said in a soft, urgent voice.

Spineless? Ha.

John gave her his most winning smile. “Entirely serious, Molly. This was all Sherlock’s idea.”

She stared at her plate for a moment, apparently collecting herself. John watched her, a little worried now. Maybe his first instinct had been correct, and this whole bad idea was going to end up being at Molly’s expense.

But no. Nope, she finally looked up, and her eyes were still fierce. “And what happens after dinner?”

John continued to smile at her encouragingly. This was not the moment to falter. “Well, after dinner I invite you back to our flat for a drink, if you’re interested.”

“A drink?” Her brow furrowed.

John spread his hands. “We’re both adults. You know what I mean.”

“And Sherlock…”

“... would join us for that portion of the evening. If you were interested.”

John found himself with an actual knot in his stomach. Somewhere along the way, he’d begun hoping very much that Sherlock was right, that Molly would want this. That it might go the way that Sherlock had described. He kept the uncertainty off his face though. Molly needed to see his confidence right now. He waited patiently while she studied him, openly thoughtful.

“You’re saying Sherlock wants to have sex with me? Tonight, if I want to?”

John couldn’t help but blink. She really wasn’t shy. How had he missed this side of Molly Hooper? Sherlock hadn’t.

“Well, if you want to be blunt about it,” John affirmed, keeping his voice matter-of-fact.

“I do.” He still couldn’t read if she was upset or not.

John saluted her with his fork. “Then well done.”

He gave her a long moment to think it over, during which she watched him eat. John schooled himself to patience. Surely it was a lot for Molly to take in. He knew that it had been for him.

“This is a one-time thing that Sherlock’s proposing? I just want to be clear about this.” She didn’t sound angry. More… wary.

“That’s what he’s proposing at the moment, though Sherlock does seem to have a lot of curiosity about these matters at the moment. If things go well for all of us, he could want to try other experiments. I couldn’t say.” John reminded himself that he and Sherlock had an… understanding. If Molly was invited back into Sherlock’s bed, Sherlock would want John to be there then too.

“And you would be… with us?” She was looking John over, the way he had looked her over in a new light after hearing Sherlock’s take on her character and proclivities.

John had thought about this part. Sherlock had made clear that he and John were a package deal, but John didn’t want to feel like Molly was merely tolerating his presence in order to do this with Sherlock. That would have been quite a buzzkill.

So he needed to pull his weight.

John leaned in, catching Molly’s eyes. “Molly, I want you to understand exactly what we’re proposing. Yes, I would be with you and Sherlock, because Sherlock and I do everything that we do together. And I want you to understand that Sherlock and I have already discussed, in great detail, exactly what we would like to do _to you_ tonight, if you’ll let us. It’s going to be very intense, very overwhelming, but I think that you’ll find that you love it. _If_ you’re simply willing to trust us and put yourself in our hands, without asking too many questions.” John’s voice dropped gradually as he was speaking, and as he held her gaze she started to go slightly glassy-eyed, an expression that John had seen on many women’s faces before.

She was getting turned on by what he was saying. Sherlock was right. She would like exactly the kind of scenario that he had in mind.

John reminded himself not to hold his breath as he waited for her next response. He was almost certain that he had her…

Molly licked her lips. “Okay,” she said calmly, not dropping her gaze.

John felt a satisfying thrill of triumph and he grinned. “Just like that? _Okay_?” She’d sounded so certain; he was pretty sure that he could goad her without risking his success.

“John, I’ve thought about something like this for six years now. Did you seriously imagine I might say no? To _Sherlock_? _Or_ to you, frankly?”

John hoped that final addition was for real and not merely to placate him. The way that she was looking at him right now, he thought that she meant it. Molly was a submissive thing, if not a spineless one, and John had attracted submissive woman all his life, with his military service and his instinct for taking charge. At this point he could see indulging himself with Molly Hooper, especially with a bossy Sherlock thrown in the mix.

“In fact... John?” Molly pressed on.

John enjoyed the sight of her intent expression, every fiber of her focused on _him_ right now. That was a good feeling from any woman.

“Yes?”

“Could we possibly skip the rest of dinner and go back to the flat now, then?”

They were magical words. Molly’s obvious eagerness suddenly sealed the deal for John’s libido, which was fully engaged and thrumming with anticipation regarding the evening ahead.

“Yes, yes we can,” John replied, standing abruptly and offering Molly his arm. He pulled out his wallet, threw down an excessive number of bills on the table, and led his visibly excited date from the restaurant, well aware of several people giving them a curious side-eye for their sudden departure.

* * *

They took a cab back to Baker Street, Molly vibrating lightly against his side the entire way. John knew that the balance of her intense over-excitement was due to the prospect of what was coming with Sherlock, but understanding his own role in Sherlock’s plans, John wasn’t particularly bothered by that. Molly Hooper was in for the evening of many a girls’ dreams.

John didn’t bother to make small talk, and had to refrain from letting his hands wander given Molly’s obvious receptivity to whatever was coming. He did, however, hold her against his side, letting them breathe in one another’s scent and get used to the closeness of one another’s bodies.

She felt _tempting_. He liked it. John had to admit, Sherlock had a lot of good ideas about sex.

John led Molly up the stairs, not bothering to avoid the giveaway step. The soft, glorious strains of the violin above them halted, and John heard Molly’s breath catch in her throat at the evidence of Sherlock’s presence.

The melody did not resume, and John unlocked the door and led Molly into the flat, which appeared empty of Sherlock’s presence by the time that they entered.

John lifted Molly’s jacket from her shoulders and tossed it casually along with his own coat over the back of the sofa. Then he turned in front of Molly and took both of her hands, catching her eyes and leading her with a backward stride into the flat, toward the fireplace.

John’s voice was soft, firm. “Keep your eyes on me, Molly. From now on, until I tell you otherwise, you’re to keep your eyes on mine at all times. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, John.” Molly’s pupils were dilating quickly, her respiration already fast and light. She gazed at John as if letting herself be hypnotized.

John stopped when he got her into the middle of the room. The lights were low, and a low fire flickered in the hearth, its gentle crackle merely highlighting the still, pregnant ambiance of the flat.

“It’s Dr. Watson, for the rest of this evening, Molly.”

She didn’t blink or hesitate. “Yes, Dr. Watson.”

Sherlock was right, Molly was _loving_ this. He couldn’t perceive all of her body’s responses as Sherlock would be able to, but John Watson knew erect nipples and a moist set of knickers when he saw them.

He smiled approvingly. “Good girl, Molly.” He took tighter hold of her hands. “Now, Molly, you’re about to feel Sherlock’s hands on you, from behind you. Do not turn around, do not look at him, do not try to do anything in response. Do you understand?”

Molly’s eyes widened, and it was clear that she was caught halfway between a panic attack and creaming her knickers. Then Sherlock’s hands settled on her waist, and her eyelids fluttered and she moaned, and for a moment John thought it conceivable that her knees were actually about to buckle.

“Don’t you _dare_ pass out, Molly Hooper,” John ordered in his hardest military voice, and Molly’s eyes snapped back open and onto his, where they were supposed to be. She straightened up, taking a deep breath and clearly laboring to get herself back under control.

John remembered the feeling well, being under Sherlock’s hands for the first time. It hadn’t been so long ago for him. He found himself smiling at the comparison, not resenting it.

“Okay, Molly, Sherlock is going to undress you. You should cooperate, but again, keep your eyes on me.” John relinquished her hands, which floated back down to her sides in a dream-like fashion.

“Yes, Dr. Watson,” Molly said softly, and over Molly’s shoulder John caught Sherlock’s satisfied smile out of the corner of his eye.

Her wraparound dress came off in one easy motion of Sherlock’s hands, and John was pretty sure that Molly had entertained the possibility that the evening was intended to wind up somewhere in the vicinity of where it had. Beneath it she wore no bra -- didn’t need one, with her small, high breasts -- and her lacy satin knickers were obviously as thoroughly damp as John had predicted.

Standing there long and pale in knickers and strappy sandals, her glossy hair around her lovely shoulders and an expression of overwhelmed lust on her face, limned in firelight, Molly Hooper looked awfully damn good.

Sherlock put his hands on Molly’s waist again and began tugging her backward.

John reached out and grasped both of her trembling hands, now following her as she was led by Sherlock. “It’s okay, Molly. Sherlock is taking us to his room. You look incredible tonight, by the way.”

Molly flushed, doing a better job of keeping her eyes fixed on John’s now that she’d gotten through the first wave of shock that Sherlock was actually touching her. That she was almost naked before him, under his hands, being driven to distraction by the fact that she hadn’t been allowed to see him yet.

“Frustrating, isn’t it?” John employed Sherlock’s mind-reading trick on Molly with ease under the circumstances.

Molly grit her teeth adorably. “Yes, Dr. Watson. It is.” Sherlock was looking nearly tickled by Molly’s predicament, back where Molly couldn’t see his expression. John found it difficult not to grin back at him over her shoulder for a second.

“Good,” he said to Molly instead, as the three of them wound up in the center of the open floorspace in Sherlock’s bedroom.

Sherlock was fully clothed to his shirtsleeves and shoes, as John was. His bedroom had some honest-to-God candles lit in far corners, but was silent of any music. Sherlock never liked to have music in the background when he was having an encounter with John either. He preferred to focus fully on what was happening.

And what was happening was Molly Hooper shuddering as if one finger-flick away from orgasm as she stood near-naked in between them.

Sherlock moved forward behind Molly, pressing his clothed length to her back. She gasped loudly.

John smiled. “Now Molly, you’re about to hear Sherlock’s voice. He’s going to begin speaking to you. You still may not turn around, look at him, or break my gaze. Do you understand?”

Molly actually took a deep, slow breath before she nodded, clearly steeling herself. Sherlock bent low to her ear.

“Hello, Molly.”

She managed to hold John’s gaze this time in spite of the full-body reaction that she clearly had to hearing Sherlock’s voice. John wondered if he’d ever had a woman want him as badly as Molly clearly wanted Sherlock.

But then, he caught Sherlock’s eye and was reminded that Sherlock Holmes himself wanted John as badly as Molly clearly wanted him. What a tangle of strange desires this night was.

“Hello, Sherlock... uh, Mr. Holmes?” Molly’s voice was strained, as she was clearly struggling to get the words out.

Sherlock splayed his fingers at her slender waist, clearly appreciating her physical fragility. “Mr. Holmes will do for now, Molly, thank you.”

“Yes, Mr. Holmes.” Her eyes fluttered shut again as she said it, as if it were almost too much for her to bear. She was leaning back into him now.

“Molly, I want you to close your eyes, and allow me to lay you down on the bed, on your back, with your legs spread wide for us. Once I’ve laid you down, I’m going to have John put a blindfold on you, so that you don’t have to be distracted by trying to resist the temptation to look at me. Do you understand your instructions?”

Molly moaned low in her throat at his words. “Yes, Mr. Holmes,” she said, squeezing her eyes shut tightly immediately.

John got the blindfold that Sherlock had decided upon. He leaned over Molly where Sherlock had laid her out on the bedspread, and she gasped at his touch as he slipped it over her closed eyes. Her intense reactivity was incredibly hot, and John stood back, completely captivated by how pitch-perfect Sherlock’s playing of her had been so far. Sherlock had removed her flimsy knickers and sandals when he laid her out, so she was now utterly nude for them.

John and Sherlock locked eyes, and John felt his by-now-significant erection twitch against his thigh, where it was trapped uncomfortably. They nodded, and climbed onto the bed together, each of them with their inside knee between Molly’s spread thighs.

They each leaned forward and took one of Molly’s nipples into their mouths at the same time. She arched instantly, her hands flying to the backs of their heads.

Sherlock intercepted her wrist and pressed it back down on the bed. “No, _bad girl_ , Molly.” She shuddered at being chided by him in this fashion and subsided against the bed beneath them.

They returned to their occupation, John enjoying how swollen her nipple was between his tugging teeth. It took mere minutes to work Molly into a writhing, begging mess who was near tears with the frustration of keeping her hands to herself. John again pulled away when Sherlock did, and felt Molly release the breath that she’d started holding as she obviously fought not to come.

“So responsive, so quickly,” Sherlock taunted. “Oh, Molly, you have a ways to go before you’re going to be allowed to orgasm tonight. I suggest that you get that under control.”

To her credit, Molly did as she was told, exhaling very slowly and very carefully re-gathering her composure. John remembered having to do almost exactly the same thing, his first time with Sherlock. Again the comparison made him smile fondly.

How had he missed how incredibly _hot_ Molly Hooper was for all these years?

“Yes, Mr. Holmes,” Molly finally said obediently, in a reasonably even voice. She lay back meekly and was still.

Sherlock flashed John a look and John nodded. Sherlock sat back a bit on his heels and lifted his left hand, stroking downward over Molly’s swollen mons. She whimpered but otherwise stayed still beneath his touch.

“ _There’s_ a good girl,” Sherlock breathed, cupping her firmly, tickling a finger into the moist warmth between her lips. “Open up for me now, would you, Molly?”

Her knees fell further apart in clear invitation, and Sherlock slipped two fingers directly into Molly’s cunt. They clearly slid easily into her slickness, and she groaned. “Yes, Molly, those are _my_ fingers inside you,” Sherlock taunted, clearly enjoying himself.

John admired the tense lines of Molly’s body beneath Sherlock’s invasion. Sherlock began to move his hand between Molly’s thighs, and she tossed her head back and forth in response, the long muscles of her stomach and thighs all quivering.

“Now, Molly, I think that you can take even more for me. You can, can’t you? Just tonight, just for me?”

John was equally excited by and concerned about how hard and fast Sherlock was pushing Molly. They really hadn’t allowed her to say a single word of her own since they’d entered the flat, and what Sherlock had planned for next…

“I can take anything you want me to take, Mr. Holmes,” Molly ground out. “ _Anything_.”

Well. That was persuasive.

“Good girl, Molly,” said Sherlock. “Come here, John.”

John got himself a handful of appropriate lube and again knelt beside Sherlock on the bed, his right hand sliding beneath Sherlock’s left one.

“It’s a good thing I’m ambidextrous, isn’t it, Molly?” Sherlock purred, as John spread the slickness in his hand deep into the cleft of Molly’s arse. “That put John’s dominant hand inside you… _there_.”

John slipped a single finger into Molly, who groaned low and long at feeling her body breached twice.

“Now, Molly. I have one instruction for you to focus on. Listen to me closely now. Are you listening? Nod if you are.” Sherlock paused for her jerk of the chin, then made his voice hard. “Molly Hooper, don’t you _dare_ orgasm tonight without my permission.”

And with that, both Sherlock and John lowered their mouths to her nipples again.

It must have been a terrifying onslaught of sensations and Molly’s moan became more of a low keening for mercy. Her fingers twisted into the bedspread to keep her hands beneath her, and John would have had his free hand on his throbbing cock in an instant if he hadn’t needed it to keep his balance above Molly. He could feel how automatically his body moved in sync with Sherlock’s, and every time he caught the younger man’s glittering eyes he felt a strange but exciting sense of intimacy at the act of making love to someone with him. It was almost as good as fighting beside him. Or fighting _against_  him, right before they...

Come to think of it, it was all pretty bloody good with Sherlock.

For Molly, too, if the sounds that she was making were any indication.

John glanced up at her, realizing that they were pushing her right through the roof of her plateau. He paused in his attentions to her nipple, catching Sherlock’s eye.

“Sherlock, she’s going to come, she won’t be able to help it.”

He saw the evil glint in Sherlock’s pale eyes and felt his scrotum tighten in his jeans. Sherlock’s voice was tight and hard, belying the amused look on his face. “She had better not, the little bitch. I told her not to in _no uncertain term_ s.”

John and Sherlock shared a satisfied smirk as Molly’s gave one final, violent twitch beneath them, and then her entire body bowed upward off the bed from the crown of her head to her heels. She arched with such hormone-fueled strength that she managed to push them both off balance for a split second, and John made a moue of astonishment at the bone-crushing way that her body convulsed around the two fingers buried inside of her. Sherlock actually began to laugh with glee as if he simply couldn’t help himself as Molly shuddered and writhed her way through a hard, long orgasm, beginning to sob a terrified-sounding, “No, no, no,” at her body’s betrayal as she realized what was happening.

John was predictably a lost cause once Sherlock started laughing, and he and Sherlock both sat back on their heels, waiting for Molly’s spasms to cease so that they could reclaim their respective fingers.

Molly seemed too stunned by the force of her unwanted orgasm to register that they had been laughing at her as she slowly subsided onto the bed. She licked her lips in clear apprehension, though they couldn’t see the rest of her expression behind her blindfold. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered fearfully, and John’s erection gave a new throb.

Sherlock gave John a look, and John slipped off the bed and then back onto it, this time pulling Molly into his lap, between his spread legs, so that she was splayed out in the cradle of his body, her back against his chest. Sherlock centered himself over Molly and leaned forward again, close enough to her torso that she could feel his presence, his breath, but not so that the fabric of his clothes was brushing against her skin.

“Molly. You disobeyed me.” Sherlock was fully in role again, no longer sharing the fun with John, but fully focused on the submissive body beneath him, though he clearly relished having John holding her for him as he proceeded.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Mr. Holmes,” Molly cried softly, now clutching at John’s denim-clad thighs beneath her.

Sherlock was looking her over, taking in every detail, clearly categorizing and sorting sensations and reactions. “Are you _truly_ sorry, Molly? Are you _sure_?”

John and Sherlock often wound each other up with dirty talk when they were going at it, but they’d never done this kind of blatant role-playing, perhaps because the power dynamic between them was too unpredictably switchy and shifting. Besides, more than any other rough sex of his life, John’s rough sex with Sherlock simply felt like an extension of the shared danger and violence that characterized the rest of the friendship. They were simply being themselves when they threw one another around the flat or wrestled one another into submission. What Sherlock was doing with Molly was much more of a game.

An extraordinarily _hot_ game.

“ _Yes_ ,” Molly sobbed pleadingly. “Yes, I’m truly sorry.”

John admired the stern lines of Sherlock’s expensively-dressed body above Molly’s shaking, nude, wide-open form. The contrast was surprisingly erotic, and for the first time John wondered if maybe he ought to be calling himself bisexual after all.

His cock twitched against his thigh. _Whatever_.

“Should I punish you, Molly?” Sherlock’s baritone voice was smooth as silk as Molly trembled beneath him. So far she’d felt the length of his body pressed against her back, his mouth on her nipple, his fingers in her cunt. Still nothing else. No embraces, no caresses, no kisses. Mostly just his voice to tell her that this was really happening, with him.

She must have been going _insane_.

“Hmm,” Sherlock hummed consideringly. “Or perhaps I should instead reward you. As it turns out, I rather _like_ seeing the evidence of what an utter slut you can be when properly provoked. Who would have guessed, Molly Hooper? Coming like a _whore_ , in defiance of the rules, with two men inside of her.”

Sherlock rocked forward over Molly, caging her between John and himself with his long limbs. She was making small mewling noises as he spoke, wriggling her arse slightly against John’s hard-on.

“Please,” she pleaded.

“Please what, Molly?”

“Please reward me. Or punish me. Either. Whatever you want. I don’t care. Just… _please_.”

Sherlock clearly liked her answer, as in response he lifted a hand and slowly removed the blindfold from Molly’s eyes. She blinked, once, twice, slowly, her eyes focusing on Sherlock’s face mere inches away from her own.

“Sherlock,” she breathed in awe, and John winced, wondering if she was going to earn a reprimand for the slip. But no, Sherlock was on another channel now. He let his eyes travel over Molly’s shining eyes, her wet lips. Sherlock lowered one hand between their bodies, slowly unfastening his trousers and drawing his erect cock out of his pants.

Molly’s breathing quickened, and he smiled down at her. “Tell me what you’d like as a reward, Molly,” he coached gently, and from his angle John could just see the swollen head of Sherlock’s sizeable cock in his fist.

“You,” she begged. “Please, you.”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. “That’s not very specific, Molly. I could interpret that a number of different ways. You better be more specific if you want to get what you’re hoping for now.”

She blinked, uncertain.

“Say it, Molly,” Sherlock coaxed her.

“Fuck me, please. Please, please, fuck me, Mr. Holmes. _Please_.”

Sherlock teased her, lowering himself slowly, easing his hips between hers, nudging into place millimetre by millimetre. The entire time Sherlock was staring into Molly’s wide eyes, and John found himself liking that he was giving that incredible, laser-like attention fully to Molly right now the same way that he previously had only to John.

John was pretty sure that he felt it in Molly’s body atop his, the moment that Sherlock pushed into her. He had an intimate view of Sherlock’s face above Molly’s, and could see the rapid twitching of Sherlock’s eyes as he began to catalog a new experience.

Molly was sighing, a long, slow sigh as Sherlock eased his way into her. Sherlock’s expression was… intent. Serious.

John felt a small pang, watching Sherlock have this particular experience for the first time with somebody else. But he was genuinely unsure that he would ever be able to bring himself to want to be fucked, and anyway this wasn’t exactly the first time that Sherlock was feeling himself inside of another person’s body. John had discovered, of course, a great enthusiasm for going down on Sherlock at this point, his purported heterosexuality be damned to hell, so he could no longer claim that he had never had another man come inside of him.

But right now, John was holding Molly as Sherlock sank slowly into her with an incredible amount of self-control. At one point, John wondered if he was going to come against Molly’s back from the slow shifting of her delicious arse against his well-captured cock.

“You… feel… incredible,” Sherlock told her softly as he finally finished settling into the cradle of her thighs.

“Thank you, Mr. Holmes” They were all three frozen now, unmoving.

Sherlock smiled at her, his rare, most genuine smile, the one that only about five people in the world had ever seen, this kind, strong woman being one of the chosen.

“ _Sherlock_ , Molly,” he corrected her.

Molly paused, swallowing. “Sherlock,” she repeated, softly.

Sherlock began to thrust, then, gently at first, experimentally. John found he enjoyed getting to join them in the act, feeling their lovemaking reverberate through his own excited body.

Molly was trembling, yet after a moment she began rising to meet Sherlock, her body broadcasting her hunger for his. He was still holding her gaze, unbroken, from the moment he’d let her see him, the moment he’d removed her blindfold. Molly was completely captivated by him, and John felt a great wash of affection for her as he gathered up her wrists in his hands and then pulled her arms over their heads.

She tugged against his iron grip to no avail and John smiled. Sherlock’s eyes flickered upward to the sight of John’s fingers wrapped around Molly’s slender wrists, and with a small smile he looked back into Molly’s eyes and began to thrust harder.

“I like you like this, Molly. And I like John holding you down for me,” Sherlock murmured near her ear as he drove into her. John felt the satisfaction of each thud wash through him.

“I can’t believe your cock is actually inside of me, Sherlock,” Molly replied in a shy voice, though there was nothing shy about the movement of her hips beneath his.

Sherlock bit his lip with a wicked look in his eye and gave a particularly vicious jerk of his hips. “You have a dirty mouth, Molly Hooper,” he chided.

Molly turned her head away from him a bit, her cheek against John’s shirtfront. “You told me to.”

He nipped at her ear and she gasped, turning back.

“So I did,” said Sherlock, pleased. “So tell me, my good girl, do you want to feel my cock inside of you again?”

John frowned, not knowing where Sherlock planned to take this now. He hadn’t known whether Sherlock was imagining Molly as an ongoing participant in his experiments or not, and he felt a little off-balance hearing about it in the middle of a moment like this.

“You know I do,” Molly practically groaned.

“I know you do. But what I don’t know yet, Molly, is how far you’d let me go, in order to feel my cock again.”

John knew he must have looked alarmed, but Sherlock glanced briefly at him over Molly’s shoulder and dismissed whatever he saw there. _Fine_. John gritted his teeth and reminded himself that he knew where the man slept. He could take this up with Sherlock later.

Because right now, Molly was clearly having the ride of her life, in John’s lap.

“How far?” Molly echoed wildly. “Sherlock, I’d let you do _anything_ to me.”

Sherlock slowed his pace again, pulling back and putting one hand hard on Molly’s hipbone to hold her down as he drove forward in a more deliberate fashion.

“ _Anything_?” Sherlock’s voice dripped disdain. “Of course you wouldn’t. Don’t even say that.”

John saw Molly swallow hard, and her tugging against John’s grip on her wrists resumed for a moment. “Tell me what you want from me, Sherlock.” She was panting now, and John was pretty sure that she was going to come before too long.

Sherlock grinned. “Would you let me cut you?”

Jesus.

John was pretty sure that Sherlock was serious.

“If you wanted to. Yes.” Molly. Oh, Christ, Molly. She was just as nuts as Sherlock was.

Sherlock evidently wasn’t done. “Would you let me burn you?” he prodded, still restraining his pace.

“If you wanted to. Yes.” No hesitation. Just Molly’s little breathless moans.

Sherlock licked his lips as he gazed down at her. “Would you let me scar you, Molly? If I wanted to?”

“Yes. Any time. Of course.”

At this point, John had to admit: there was something about her utter abandonment, her wanton willingness to agree to anything Sherlock wanted, no matter how sick, in order to please him, to be with him again…

Okay. Fine, it was hot. John was about to spurt against Molly’s arse, and he found himself unexpectedly needing to reign himself in.

He caught a smirk thrown his way by Sherlock and realized that (of course) the eagle-eyed bastard had noticed. Damn Sherlock’s sick games anyway. John didn’t really want to see Sherlock do those things to Molly, it was just the mindfuck of hearing her agreeing to it so eagerly.

He told himself that that was probably all it was to Sherlock, as well.

Sherlock leaned in, then, his breath against Molly’s cheek. “Would you really let me, Molly? Do you mean it?”

She turned her face so that her lips moved against his. “If you wanted to. Then _yes_.”

Sherlock smiled, then pulled his hips all the way back and paused for just a heartbeat before beginning to pound into her with all of his considerable strength.

John couldn’t completely swallow his own groans of satisfaction just from the feeling of Molly’s delicate body being driven into his like this. Sherlock drove her through a series of shattering orgasms, slipping his thumb onto her clit as he took his time with her. John simply lay back and enjoyed the physical strain of restraining Molly’s wrists, the sweat-damp submissive body writhing in his lap, the sight of Sherlock’s beautiful face as he analyzed his way through yet another new experience.

Molly came three or four times -- it wasn’t clear how to count the last, quite long episode. As she slowly subsided from her final climax, Sherlock slowed his pace, then stilled, then with a final kiss to Molly’s forehead he slipped out of her.

“Good girl,” he whispered.

Molly furrowed her brow, trying to gather her thoughts. “You haven’t --” she began to protest.

“Shh.” Sherlock cut her off. “Be patient, Molly.”

“Be… patient?” John slipped out from behind Molly, turning and gathering her in his arms as Sherlock silently left the bed and seated himself in a comfortable chair arranged facing them.

John slipped a hand between Molly’s legs, finding her sopping wet and inflamed. Sherlock had really pounded her. She gasped as his gentle fingers parted her labia and slid over the swollen valley of her vagina.

“Are you sore after that, Molly?”

“Yes, Dr. Watson.” She was wincing, but also sighing and pushing toward his fingers. He gave them to her, sliding into the cavity that had just been vacated by Sherlock. Molly moaned, hips rocking.

“I’m going to fuck you next, Molly, and like Sherlock did, I’m going to take my time about it. I know that you’re sore already, so I’m going to play nicely tonight and warm you back up slowly. Would you like that?”

“Thank you, Dr. Watson,” she replied, as well-mannered as always.

He stretched her gently, making sure that she felt as much pleasure as pain as he warmed her up for another round. Sherlock was utterly silent; John couldn’t even hear him breathing, though he was certain he could feel Sherlock’s eyes boring into them.

It wasn’t inhibitory at all. It made John want to put on a show. He got Molly mewling, a blatant sound of _want_ coming from the back of her throat, before he slipped between her thighs. He wrapped his hands under her knees to spread her wide and he pushed into her in one long, slow motion, his eyes fixed to the place where his body was breaching hers.

God, it seemed like  _forever_ since he felt the hot/slick/satin embrace of a woman's body. No lube needed. Maybe not as tight as fucking someone's arse -- though Molly was, predictably, pretty tight -- but then nothing else could exactly stand in for this particular feeling, this particular moment. 

Molly moaned loudly, dragging her fingers into her hair and then holding it, tugging, something to help her endure the burning pleasure of John’s cock inside of her where Sherlock had already fucked her until she ached. John slid into her deeply and then lodged himself there, letting Molly writhe a bit, impaled.

“You liked being handed off between us, didn’t you, Molly?” John asked, running his hands up her slender body to her small breasts -- nearly boyish when she lay back like this -- but with remarkably erect nipples begging for attention. "From one man to another, passed between us for our pleasure."

“Yes, Dr. Watson,” Molly admitted breathlessly.

John tugged at her nipples. “Do you know how distracting it is, Molly, that your nipples get so _absurdly_ hard every time that you’re in the same room with Sherlock? You do realize that everyone has noticed it, don’t you?”

She blushed instantly, screwing her eyes shut even and groaning in embarrassment. “No. Please no.”

John laughed. “I’m afraid so, my dear. Who could miss it? Sometimes it’s the sluttiest thing I see all week.” He was still buried between her thighs but not moving in her, taking his time playing with her a bit first. She was just so bloody  _uninhibited,_ so shamelessly submissive, with no desire to fight him for control, so very different from Sherlock's fierce lovemaking. John made sure to appreciate and enjoy the feminine body beneath him. Honestly, he'd missed this.

“Being teased makes you hot, doesn't it, Molly?" John voice prompted her to finally open her eyes again, and her face was a study in helpless arousal. Her cunt was convulsing on him, though she wasn’t truly coming, just over-excited. "Being played with?"

“Yes, Dr. Watson. _Everything_ makes me hot.”

John felt a jolt of lust draw upward deep in his groin. It was time. He braced himself and began with long, slow, deep thrusts, again warming her up slowly.

Molly was incredibly expressive of her appreciation. John was satisfied that Sherlock had chosen wisely for his first time with a woman. He slowly increased his pace, and every once in a while he lifted her hips and laid her calves along his own collarbones for a few brutally deep strokes that left her gasping. Molly was fantastically responsive, hitching and moaning and twisting in response to every trick John knew for coaxing women into  wildness.

To be fair, John knew a lot of tricks. And Molly made him look good to Sherlock, and the awareness of Sherlock’s hot gaze only contributed to the  firmness of John’s iron-hard cock. He felt like he’d been hard for hours now. Maybe he had. He was going to have to come soon.

John slipped the leash on his desire to pound Molly into the mattress. He felt a sudden wave of intense, aroused rage at his predicament -- a straight man insanely in love with his madman of a best friend. But at the moment that predicament had gotten him wrapped in Molly’s sweet, hot cunt, and he let his frustration drive him into her with reckless abandon.

She felt _fantastic_. She was clinging to him now, sounding and smelling and feeling exactly like a _woman_ , a euphoric reminder of the joys of his heterosexuality, and John was pleased to find that he and Molly had somehow found exactly that place, exactly the place that he’d hoped to find with her tonight, if possible. They both let go and let themselves descend into their own animal natures, where even proper kissing seemed too evolutionarily distant from where they’d found themselves, so they merely buried their faces in the hollows of one another’s throats and held on for dear life until they had both come.

Molly came first, and John retained just enough presence of mind to make sure she did a second time before he spilled over himself. That made for a total of five to six tonight for the bedraggled Molly, and John felt the warm glow of masculine satisfaction over a job very well done even as his own brain short-circuited with the force of the orgasm that he’d been evading for several hours. He dissolved into mindless shouting, and was immediately aware that he had no idea what he was saying. But Molly was trembling beneath him as she rocked him through the last of his climax, clearly over-stimulated to the point of near-hyperventilation.

“It’s okay, Molly,” he whispered reassuringly, face buried in the lovely almond smell of her shampoo. His voice was hoarse, and she was still whimpering in his ear. John braced himself in a stable position above her, caging her with his limbs, letting his slowing heartrate pull hers back down from where it was racing out of control.

He continued murmuring sweet comforts in her ear, as their bodies slowly settled together against the mattress and his prick slipped slowly out of her cunt.

“Hold still, the both of you,” came Sherlock’s soft voice suddenly from the corner. John froze and felt Molly do the same. It wasn’t that they’d exactly forgotten that Sherlock was there -- how could they? -- but it was still jarring to hear his distinctive baritone out of the darkness.

John heard Sherlock’s soft footfall on the carpet, then felt him climb on the bed between Molly and John’s legs. John was still laying on top of Molly, and Sherlock nudged John upward a bit, scooted up, and slowly found the correct angle to work his still-hard prick into Molly’s incredibly sensitive cunt.

Molly moaned but stayed still; John was like a statue above her. Sherlock gave a couple of firm thrusts, and suddenly his fingers tightened on John’s shoulders as he came, shuddering, inside of Molly, where John had just finished.

His orgasm appeared to be fast and hard, and Sherlock ground out John’s name just under his breath, sub-vocally, though John could make it out plain as day. He wasn’t sure if Molly heard it, though she was pretty preoccupied trying to bear the third round of penetration in a row.

Finally Sherlock collapsed, and John took responsibility for arranging and rolling all three of them onto their sides in a tangle of arms and legs. Molly wriggled for a moment until she seemed to get her various body parts into tolerable positions among John’s and Sherlock’s, and then all three drifted into a dozed stupor as their bodies drifted in a sea of oxytocin.

John came to consciousness a couple of times over the next hour or two to find Sherlock wide awake, resting silently in his place in the puppy pile that had resulted from their evening. John met his eyes briefly each time before allowing himself to sink back under, realizing that he was as genuinely, deeply exhausted as he usually was after making love with Sherlock.

He supposed a couple more hours had passed, because when John opened his eyes again all of the candles were out, and there was only a sliver of light from the hallway where they’d never bothered to fully latch the door. John moved an arm experimentally, and discovered Sherlock’s familiar curls tucked under his nose from where Sherlock has nestled in under John’s arm.

John peered into the gloom. Molly had left the bed and was clearly searching about for her sandal in the darkness. Sherlock was finally asleep.

“Molly,” John whispered softly, not wanting to wake Sherlock -- who rarely slept -- but worried that she was leaving because she felt unwanted.

Molly jumped a little and turned, one shoe in her hand. John thought that he saw a smile on her face even in the deep shadows. “It’s okay, John. Let Sherlock sleep. I want to leave now, this way.” She paused. “Remember this just the way it’s been, whether there’s a next time or not. Okay?”

John, having wasted many years in denial about how completely, irrationally in love he had fallen with Sherlock Holmes, thought that he understood. He trusted, now, that Sherlock was right: Molly was a grown woman, and they’d been right to let her decide for herself if she wanted this. But John _liked_ Molly -- even more now than before -- and found that he was still fretting for her slightly.

Molly pressed her hand on his arm in the dark. “Trust me, John. I’m okay.”

Sherlock stirred, and they both froze. Then Molly stood slowly, and John gave her a nod that he was pretty sure she could see in the low light. He would trust her, then.

She found her other shoe and slipped out, and John was impressed that she managed to open and close the front door and avoid the giveaway stair without causing Sherlock to rouse again from his sleep. Instead, Sherlock nuzzled in further to John’s armpit, seeking warmth and familiar scent.

“Shh,” John whispered against Sherlock’s hair, stroking it gently in the dark.

“Okay, John?” Sherlock suddenly whispered, softly.

“Okay, Sherlock,” John replied, and they both burrowed in below Sherlock’s expensive sheets and pillows.

 

 


End file.
